


Diametrically Opposed

by lightningwaltz



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Antagonism, Gen, Missing Scene, Slight Crackfic, Yuletide Treat, a little bit meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamilton can't handle Jefferson's resemblance to Lafayette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diametrically Opposed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verymilkytea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verymilkytea/gifts).



> Like verymilktea I'm pretty fascinated by Hamilton's relationships to many of the other characters. His abject hatred of Jefferson is one of most interesting parts of the musical to me, and leads to some of my very favorite songs, too. 
> 
> Verymilktea was also interested in Hamilton's relationships with his revolutionary war buddies. I've always been fascinated by how two of them are double cast as Hamilton's adversaries in the second half. Since Hamilton has a couple moments of fourth wall breakage ("I was chosen for the Constitutional Convention!") I've always been amused by the idea of him noticing an extreme physical resemblance between Lafayette and Jefferson and being disturbed by it. Hence this fic of them trading some verbal barbs just before the decisive dinner with Madison. I hope you enjoy!

In every extended conversation with Jefferson, there always came a point when Hamilton began to fervently long for the war. He decided he was in for trouble when that particular moment arrived to dinner well ahead of Madison. 

Hamilton had made an early entrance to Jefferson’s place, solely because this was his habit. He never understood those who persistently slunk in late to conventions and meetings. There seemed to be very little point to allowing voting opportunities to slip through your fingers, or to dragging your feet on the way to potential glory. There was little point to attending monumental assemblies, all the while appearing as though you would much rather being having a nap. 

In this case, though, he battled with the slow and steady realization that his punctuality had done him no favors. Jefferson's actions underscored this realization quite quickly.

“I probably should have waited for Madison before drinking this,” Jefferson said, failing to look apologetic. “However, there’s something to be said for enjoying your last tax-free glass of wine. Surely you understand.” 

Yes, Hamilton truly missed the world of bayonets and blood and horse for supper. 

He was drinking too- had been drinking a lot, in fact- and the alcohol was besieging his body and mind. It did nothing to dull his aggravation at Jefferson’s taunts. It did everything to heighten and accentuate Jefferson’s resemblance to Lafayette. 

Jefferson’s homecoming had been one of the foremost disappointments of Hamilton career. He’d had natural curiosity about the writer of the Declaration of Independence, but that had ceded way once he caught sight of Jefferson’s general appearance. The angles and curves of his face were uncannily similar to everything about Lafayette. Sometimes he gave off a familiar grin, and Hamilton remembered what it was like to share an unguarded laugh with friends. Sometimes Jefferson would forget himself, and he would talk and talk and talk. All his words and ideas would pile up and knock into one another, faster than any galloping horse. Just like Lafayette.

But then Hamilton had attended a cabinet meeting with Jefferson and that, more than anything else, had let him know the resemblance was superficial. It let him know that the clear goals and easy camaraderie of war had long since been buried around the same time as John Laurens. Jefferson’s policies were uninspiring at best, appalling at worst, and Hamilton often wondered if he was lying about his attachment to Lafayette. The man Hamilton had known would have been much too smart for that.

So they sat, and they waited for Madison, and Hamilton digested that pointed dig about taxation alongside his wine. 

“If you make taunts like that all throughout dinner, I’m sure this will be a very productive evening.” Hamilton said, and a hundred better retorts immediately leaped into his head. Too late to say them now, but they would haunt him for weeks. He wondered if he could surreptitiously write them down and save them for a proper cabinet meeting.

“Ah, yes, not to worry.” Jefferson set his glass down, and examined his clothes for nonexistent wrinkles. He needn’t have bothered. The dirt and dust of the world never seemed to cling to Jefferson in any appreciable way. “Madison and I have drawn up our list of goals. We come to this well prepared.” 

Of course they had. The two of them were like some two-headed, Virginian hydra monster. Strike one down, and the other popped up for a passive-aggressive attack.

Jefferson was _smart_. That was the horrific reality of it all. When he had returned to the political scene and failed to live up to his resemblance to Lafayette, Hamilton had had decided Jefferson’s old-fashioned demeanor and norms might be his Achilles heel. He had the backing of some very old establishments (by American standards), but he could be defeated if he lacked and adaptability and talent. Hamilton had been quickly disabused of that idea, too. Jefferson was privileged and archaic, but he had not allowed himself to grow complacent. Beneath all that gentility and refinement, he was out for blood. He was a fighter. 

Exactly like Lafayette. 

(Except, he fought for all the wrong things.)

Hamilton sighed for an impressively long time. “Fine. Give me a hint. What’s on the table, literally and figuratively?”

Jefferson raised an eyebrow. “Well, _literally_ …” He described the meal they would soon be having, down to the last detail. Hamilton probably deserved that, and he almost started laughing. Jefferson’s visual similarities to Lafayette led him into this trap from time-to-time. It made him want to resurrect that friendship, and project it onto this man who looked like a specter from Hamilton’s past. 

Whenever that happened, he remembered Jefferson’s latest immature insult about Hamilton’s wardrobe. It was a great tactic for defeating any sort of friendly impulses.

“As for the figurative, well, hah.” Jefferson sure looked pleased with himself. “We may or may not be demanding the Capitol be moved.” 

For a moment or too, Hamilton was surprised at how queasy that idea made him. Sometimes, whenever exhaustion threatened to lay him low, he remembered sailing into New York’s harbors. He remembered watching that city pull into view and hoping- _knowing_ \- his future would begin here. 

“Where would you move it, exactly?” He asked this, even though he already knew the answer. Jefferson and Madison always talked about the south as though it was an entirely different country. Better than anything that surrounded them. And whenever they finished up speaking in this way, they would often proceed to castigate Hamilton for being an immigrant.

Jefferson smirked, clearly certain he won one over Hamilton. “Let’s just say that that moving it near Washington's birthplace will probably add to his mythos. Which he will hate, but you will love. Everyone wins except for Washington.” 

More memories besieged Hamilton. Lafayette had had a casual and friendly way with Washington, but he had also been brimming with respect for the general. Whenever he was angry, he made it clear. 

_They're not alike. They've never been alike._

“You’re talking about the president as though he’s some kind of dictator. You can disagree with him without acting like he’s a modern day Tarquinius.”

Jefferson let out a quick exhale that hissed through his teeth. He rubbed his temples. “Hamilton, I’m actually in the middle of a migraine, and, knowing you, this 'dinner' will last all night. Let’s save the historical references for later. And, anyway, don’t you _like_ Washington? At least say I’m making him out to be a modern day Augustus, or something. He left us marble in place of clay and all that.” 

Hamilton wondered if he was getting a headache, too. “Fine, fine.” 

The conversation failed to resume, and that suited them both. Hamilton ignored the ghosts of the dead, and he let his racing thoughts blot out the silence of those who long since traveled across the sea. When Madison finally arrived, a trick of the light made him appear like Hercules Mulligan. It wasn't the first time Hamilton had thought this. Tonight, though, it made him take a large gulp of his tax-free wine. 

The things he endured for America's financial system.


End file.
